


word disassociation

by iamsolarflare



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Tokyo Lift, gerund and coolname might end up in a QPR i'm not sure, no idea how to tag these particular IRM versions of coolname and gerund, shelled!Gerund, takes place during Season 11, that should work?, ump!Coolname
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsolarflare/pseuds/iamsolarflare
Summary: a series of ficlets featuring gerund pantheocide and coolname galvanic, and also an unlikely friendship between two Totally Normal Humans playing for the tokyo lift!
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	word disassociation

**Author's Note:**

> Gerund uses she/they pronouns; Coolname uses it/its or no pronouns. I'm undecided on what pronouns anyone else in Lift would use, hence the lack of other Lift members.

Falling. They’re falling.

Wind whistles through their ears, over-long hair fluttering in the breeze, pieces of shell smashing to the earth. How long has it been -- years, centuries? They’re not sure. They’ve been alone for so long, in there. A prisoner waiting.

A prisoner for good reason, though.

They stare up at the sky, a grin slowly spreading across their face as they fall, and raise one hand, reaching out to the new sun and the stars and the black hole, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement.

They slice one hand across their throat as they hit the ground, just barely managing to flip the heavens off before they pass out.

* * *

“Hey, you.”

They blink wearily at the blurry figure in front of them.

“You’re finally awake,” the figure continues, slowly coming into focus. Asymmetrical hair, an outfit that looks like the designer went to a craft store and rolled around in the sequins and feathers until they were satisfied, mirrored sunglasses.

“Don’t you fuckin’ reference Skyrim at me,” they snap, pushing themself up off the ground. 

The figure snorts, the short breath sending its hair forward a few inches. “Sorry. Always wanted to do that. So, uh, who’re you anyway? Saw you, uh, fall from the sky.”

“Who am I…” They get to their feet, wobbling unsteadily. “I am what the gods sought to keep from the earth. I am their ruin. I am the freed prisoner to bring about the end of all days for higher beings.”

The sunglasses figure looks entirely unshaken by this monologue; hard to tell its facial expression from behind those shades, but if anything it seems intrigued. “What type of higher beings are ya looking for?”

“I’m going to kill the gods.”

“Fuckin’  _ sweet _ .” The figure pauses, cocks its head to the side. “Wait, like, just the coin, or all of them?”

“All of them.”

“Pantheocide, got it.” It nods solemnly, as though this is a completely normal thing to be discussing with someone. “D’you have a first name? Pronouns? A favored method of murder?”

They blink. It’s the first time anybody’s asked that. The Shelled One and the other gods certainly hadn’t. It takes a few minutes of staring at the figure across from them to come to a conclusion.

“Gerund. She/they. I’ll figure that out once I’m done.”

The figure extends a hand, grinning just slightly too widely, sharp teeth glinting. “Coolname Galvanic. My first name changes, so just call me Galv. I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna get along just fine.”

Pantheocide shakes Galvanic’s hand. It’s warm to the touch. “Charmed.”

* * *

It’s been a couple months. Gerund Pantheocide sits on the bench, watching Hitherto pitch. Next to them, Galvanic is slumped up against the wall, snoring lightly, asleep in preparation for its next match. Its sunglasses catch the light and reflect her face in them.

She frowns at her own reflection; ragged hair, tired eyes, fluorescent pink streak in her hair, perpetual scowl deepening. It’s been two months of training with the Tokyo Lift, preparing to take the place of the Baltimore Crabs as best they can. Two months of getting to know everyone on the team (surprisingly, her mission statement of “I’m going to kill all the gods” was met not with awkward silence or immediate imprisonment -- it was met with a resounding “Hell yeah!” and one “You go, girl!” from the octogenarian knitting at the meeting table). Two months of learning how to actually  _ play _ the hellsplort that was Blaseball.

Two months, and she’s never seen Coolname Galvanic take off its sunglasses. Not even lower them slightly. Even on the trip to the Spies stadium, where it was utterly pitch-black in those unmarked vans, all it did was adjust its sunglasses slightly enough to make sure they were still solidly in place.

It’s hiding something.

Gerund takes a deep breath in and reaches out towards the offending sunglasses, intending to maybe just tilt them enough to see her fellow pitcher’s eyes. She doesn’t get that far.

Galvanic’s hand snaps out inhumanly fast, closing around her wrist, squeezing a bit too tightly to be comfortable. It doesn’t move from its slumped position otherwise, but one corner of its mouth curls up in a sneer.  **“Don’t do that,”** it says.

“Can I have my hand back?”

A long silence. Coolname’s grip is uncomfortably hot.

**“Fine,”** it says, letting go of her hand. “Don’t touch my sunglasses though. Capisce?”

Gerund rubs her wrist. It’s still warm. “Sorry. I was curious.”

It snorts. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“I’m a godkiller, not a cat.”

“Ohh, that’d explain why you’re not dead.” Coolname sits up slightly and grins. “No hard feelings. Just… don’t do that again, okay?”

She manages to muster up a sheepish smile in return. “Alright.”

* * *

That Sunday, Gerund notices that there are burn blisters on her wrist in the places where Galvanic’s fingertips had made contact. She stares at her arm for a few minutes, then continues putting on her hand wraps, making sure they’re loose enough that they won’t chafe.

Come to think of it, she hasn’t seen Coolname since that day. It pitched a mean game, and then just sort of… vanished. 

Maybe it’s avoiding her. That just won’t do.

Gerund finishes wrapping her hands and heads over to its room, barely even hesitating before knocking on the door (seven taps, shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits).

“What,” comes a blunt and tired voice from behind the door.

She clears her throat. “You’re avoiding me.”

“Maybe so.”

“Well then, you’ve forced my hand.” She crosses her arms at the door and fixes the peephole with a glare. “I am the end times, the fall of gods, the prisoner freed. I will not be denied.”

Silence.

“Also you haven’t done your reps today, and I’m  _ going _ to make sure you do them.”

The door opens. Galvanic, wearing a relatively simple bomber jacket, its hair clearly unbrushed and unwashed. “I guess you won’t be denied, then.”

Gerund squints at it. “You look like shit.”

It adjusts its sunglasses. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

* * *

They’re in Party Time now. The vibe on the team is generally pretty good, and even Gerund finds herself getting caught up in the celebration now and then. Galvanic, on the other hand, remains rather stoic.

Not that it’s been pitching  _ badly _ . For a one-star pitcher, Galvanic’s  _ terrifyingly _ good. Batters flinch when it stares them down, sun glinting off its mirrored glasses. Off the field, though, there’s none of that manic grinning energy. It’s not  _ moping _ , but it’s not  _ partying. _

She rubs the bridge of her nose. There’s no point in getting caught up in all this; if Coolname wants to be grumpy then it’s just going to have to be grumpy.  _ She’s _ going to get some sick gains.

Actually, right now she’s going to wash her laundry, but that’s besides the point. She’s not going to be getting sick gains in dirty clothing, that’d be downright  _ unbecoming _ of a godkiller of her notoriety.

It’s mostly dark in the laundry room when she gets there; the single lightbulb is off, but there’s two small flickering lights somewhere near the window, shining weirdly off the glass. Gerund doesn’t think much of it - Lance probably just left some candles burning there, and it’s not likely to hurt anything. Still, it’s hard to see, so she reaches for the lightswitch and flicks it on.

The light clicks on. The other person in the room whips around, staring at Gerund, teeth bared in a snarl. Coolname’s eyes are glowing white, and it is _glaring_ at her with a cold anger she understands all too well.  
  
**“You saw** ** _nothing_** **,”** it hisses.

She shakes her head. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, Galv, but I also can’t pretend I didn’t see anything.”

Faint wisps of smoke curl up from Galvanic’s fingertips. Its hands are shaking. The room starts smelling faintly like burned plastic.

Gerund acts quickly; she drops her laundry and lunges towards Galvanic, snatching its sunglasses out from its burning grip. It makes a grab for them, but she’s already ducked the other way and is now standing in front of it.

Before she can make another movement, it grabs her by the shoulders; she winces, but manages to raise her arms anyway and slide the sunglasses back over its face. “There,” Pantheocide says, stepping back out of its grip and raising her hands.

It stares at her, then takes a step back as well. Its heel hits the wall of the cramped laundry room.  **“** **_Shit._ ** **”**

“I’m fine.”

**“No, you’re not.”** It shakes its head.  **“Your shoulders-”**

“-Will be fine once I get some aloe vera on them,” Gerund says. The brief rush of adrenaline is wearing off, and she does her best not to wince at how much her shoulders already hurt. Galvanic first.

**“Nobody was supposed to find out,”** it says quietly.

“I already said I’m not gonna tell anyone else, Galv. You have my word.”

It takes a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of its nose.  **“I could get in a lot of trouble.”**

Gerund snorts. “Yeah, they might lock you inside a giant peanut god for all of eternity. Oh wait -- that’s me. You’ll be fine.”

Coolname’s hands are still shaking. She considers reaching out to hold one, but when she moves her shoulder it starts hurting. Right. Burny hands. Maybe not a good idea. “Seriously,” she continues, “I swear on my mission I won’t tell anybody. Not on this team, not off this team, not another umpire, certainly not any gods.”

It sits down on the ground, back hitting the washing machine with a soft  _ klunk _ . “I’m sorry,” it mutters. Its eyes are hidden once more, but Gerund gets the feeling it’s staring directly at the wall rather than looking at her.

She sits down next to it and puts one hand on its head. It flinches, but doesn’t pull away.

“Galv, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much,” she lies. It does hurt. A lot. Not the worst pain she’s ever felt, but it definitely sucks.

Luckily, it seems to buy into her white lie. “If you say so. Uh… I guess now you know why I wear sunglasses.”

“Yeah. Honestly, I kinda thought it was just a fashion choice, or maybe something to do with dysphoria.”

Coolname snorts. “Nnnnnope.”

“Are you worried I’m going to murder you?”

Its face scrunches up in confusion. “What? No. Umpires aren’t gods. I’m pretty sure I’m safe. I mean, I  _ am _ safe, right?”

“Yeah, I would’ve stabbed you already otherwise.” Gerund grins at it, trying to bring up the mood.

It smiles back weakly. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

Gerund tells her second white lie of the day when Lance sees her shoulders and asks what happened. “Chemical burns,” she says, grimacing. “Turns out I’m  _ super _ allergic to the kind of detergent Coolname uses. It agreed to change it, so we should be fine.”

Nobody questions the fact that the burns are clearly heat burns and not chemical burns (stranger things have happened in blaseball). Lance sort of squints at her funny, but otherwise she gets away scot-free. At least, up until she ducks back into her room and sees Coolname Galvanic sitting cross-legged on her floor.

“Hey,” she says. “You’re in my room.”

“Yup,” it responds.

“Are you going to leave?”

“No.”

She steps into her room and closes the door behind her. “Are you going to incinerate me the rest of the way?”

“No!” It shakes its head. “I just wanted to say, uh, thanks for not ratting me out?”

“I said I wasn’t gonna. I keep my word.”

“Apparently.”

Gerund sits down on her bed. “So, what’s up? Why are you still in my room?”

Coolname stares at the floor and doesn’t respond. She nudges it with her foot. “Hey, I asked you a question. You dare deny the godkiller?”

There’s a pause during which she can only assume it rolls its eyes. “Maybe I  _ do _ dare, what’s it to you?”

“Hm… maybe, like, five peanuts.”

“Cheapskate.” It snorts; there’s another long pause, and when it speaks again its tone is quieter, more reserved. “Look, I just… still feel bad, is all. I don’t exactly want to incinerate people anymore. I could’ve hurt you really badly.”

Gerund snorts. “I was locked inside a god for centuries. You’re  _ fine _ , Galv, seriously.”

“M-hm.”

They sit there in silence for another minute before she gets tired of the gloomy mood and decides to say something dumb. “So, what, you don’t incinerate people, but crushing their dreams on the pitcher’s mound is A-OK?”

It tilts its head back and grins at her. “Yeah, crushing dreams is nonlethal, so I can do it again and again.”

“Pretty ruthless of you.”

“Maybe so.” Galvanic stretches, and then just… lies down on the floor. “How about you, Pantheocide? You’ve got  _ my _ tragic backstory now, why are  _ you _ a pitcher?”

She shrugs. “Blaseball’s got the best god-killing track record out of any splort.”

“I didn’t ask why you were a  _ blaseball _ player, dipshit, I asked why you’re a  _ pitcher _ .”

“Oh. Uh. We needed a pitcher.”

“Liar.” It sits back up and lowers its sunglasses to squint at her. “C’mon. Why’re you a pitcher.”

“...Okay. I did some sports research and I just thought Jaylen was pretty cool.”

“Ha! I  _ knew _ it!” It pushes its sunglasses back up and fist-pumps with its free hand. “Yusef owes me twenty bucks!”

“You made a bet on why I’m a pitcher?”

Galvanic stares at her. “Yes.”

Gerund stares back. “You know that’s really rude, right? I wouldn’t bet with the other Lift members on  _ your _ backstory. Even if  it _weren’t_ a closely guarded secret you would potentially kill to keep or whatever.”

“I’ll split the cash with you.”

She huffs and flops down onto her bed the rest of the way. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

**Author's Note:**

> "don't you ever want to talk about your feelings, coolname?"  
> "no."  
> "well i do"  
> "i know, gerund."  
> "i want to kill all the gods."  
> "i KNOW, gerund"
> 
> anyway, i would appreciate comments if you liked reading this! ty :>


End file.
